Lizzy Glenn | Page 6

bed. She had not yet eaten of the
food, which her two well children were devouring with the eagerness of
hungry animals. Only a small portion did she now take for herself, and
that was eaten hurriedly, as if the time occupied in attending to her own
wants were so much wasted.
The meal over, Mrs. Gaston took the unfinished pair of trowsers, and,
though feeling weary and disheartened, bent earnestly to the task before
her. At this she toiled, unremittingly, until the falling twilight
admonished her to stop. The children's supper was then prepared. She
would have applied to Mrs. Grubb for a loaf of bread, but was so
certain of meeting a refusal, that she refrained from doing so. For
supper, therefore, they had only the salt fish and potatoes.
It was one o'clock that night before exhausted nature refused another
draft upon its energies. The garment was not quite finished. But the
nerveless hand and the weary head of the poor seamstress obeyed the
requirements of her will no longer. The needle had to be laid aside, for
the finger had no more strength to grasp, nor skill to direct its motions.
CHAPTER II.
HOW A NEEDLEWOMAN LIVES.

IT was about ten o'clock on the next morning, when Mrs. Gaston
appeared at the shop of Berlaps, the tailor.
"Here is the other pair," she said, as she came up to the counter, behind

which stood Michael, the salesman.
That person took the pair of trowsers, glanced at them a moment, and
then, tossing them aside, asked Mrs. Gaston if she could make some
cloth roundabouts.
"At what price?" was inquired.
"The usual price--thirty cents."
"Thirty cents for cloth jackets! Indeed, Michael, that is too little. You
used to give thirty-seven and a half."
"Can't afford to do it now, then. Thirty cents is enough. There are
plenty of women glad to get them even at that price."
"But it will take me a full day and a half to make a cloth jacket,
Michael."
"You work slow, that's the reason; a good sewer can easily make one in
a day; and that's doing pretty well these times."
"I don't know what you mean by pretty well, Michael," answered the
seamstress. "How do you think you could manage to support yourself
and three children on less than thirty cents a day?"
"Haven't you put that oldest boy of yours out yet?" asked Michael,
instead of replying to the question of Mrs. Gaston.
"No, I have not."
"Well, you do very wrong, let me tell you, to slave yourself and pinch
your other children for him, when he might be earning his living just as
well as not. He's plenty old enough to be put out."
"You may think so, but I don't. He is still but a child."
"A pretty big child, I should say. But, if you would like to get him a
good master, I know a man over in Cambridge who would take him off

of your hands."
"Who is he?"
"He keeps a store, and wants just such a boy to do odd trifles about, and
run of errands. It would be the very dandy for your little follow. He'll
be in here to-day; and if you say so, I will speak to him about your
son."
"I would rather try and keep him with me this winter. He is too young
to go so far away. I could not know whether he were well or ill used."
"Oh, as to that, ma'am, the man I spoke of is a particular friend of mine,
and I know him to be as kind-hearted as a woman. His wife's amiability
and good temper are proverbial. Do let me speak a good word for your
son; I'm sure you will never repent it."
"I'll think about it, Michael; but don't believe I shall feel satisfied to let
Henry go anywhere out of Boston, even if I should be forced to get him
a place away from home this winter."
"Well, you can do as you please, Mrs. Gaston," said Michael in a half
offended tone. "I shall not charge any thing for my advice; But say! do
you intend trying some of these jackets?"
"Can't you give me some more pantaloons? I can do better on them, I
think."
"We sha'n't have any more coarse trowsers ready for two or three days.
The jackets are your only chance."
"If I must, suppose I must, then," replied Mrs. Gaston to this, in a
desponding tone. "So let me have a couple of them."
The salesman took from a shelf two dark, heavy cloth jackets, cut out,
and tied up in separate bundles with a strip of the fabric from which
they had been taken. As he handed them, to